


The Brightest Colors

by starbuckmeggie



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Family Fluff, Family Sap, Fluff, Gen, Mother's Day, The West Wing - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 07:13:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14666013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starbuckmeggie/pseuds/starbuckmeggie
Summary: Set a couple of months after A Million Dreams. Just a quiet morning.





	The Brightest Colors

“Mah-mee.”

I moan a little, throwing my arm over my eyes.

“Mah-mee.”

I make another noise and turn onto my side, pulling the blankets up to my ears. Whatever it is, Josh can deal with it. 

I feel something touch my face, realizing a moment later that it’s a tiny hand. I crack one eye open, surprised to see a baby sitting next to me. An instant later I smile, my life coming crashing back to me as I remember that this is _my_ baby. 

She grins back at me, her sparse, tiny teeth sparkling in the morning light. Her bright blue eyes dance. The deep dimples that form in her cheeks make her look just like her father. 

“Good morning, Rebecca.” I clear my throat, trying work out the morning frog that makes my voice about an octave lower than usual. “What’re you doing here?”

She scrunches up her nose at me, blowing a few spit bubbles. Not that I expected her to actually answer. My daughter surprises me daily, and she’s extraordinarily smart, but suddenly being able to form complete sentences to explain how she got into bed with me when she’s still having a tough time with regular, small words seems unlikely.

“Did Daddy bring you in here?” Rhetorical question, of course. I hope. She’s been getting herself into and out of a lot of places lately—most very creative—but I truly hope that she isn’t yet capable of climbing out of her crib and then finding a way onto a bed. 

Again, unlikely, but she’s her father’s daughter and is capable of getting herself into the most unexpected predicaments.

I reach out and grab her foot, carefully pulling at her little toes. She laughs, her leg involuntarily pulling back as my touch tickles her. I reach up and run my fingers along her side, laughing as she jumps and squirms. Becca shrieks, flopping forward suddenly, and I wrap my arm around her. I kiss her soft, squishy cheeks, cringing as she yells in my ear. 

“Good morning, Becca-boo,” I tell her between kisses. “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you.”

She wiggles and laughs, used to my antics by now, and probably more than a little entertained by it all. Entertained in the condescending way, though, not in the usual baby way. Half the time, I feel like she just puts up with this nonsense because it seems to amuse me and her father, not because she has any use for it all.

I finally let her go, giving her one last big kiss on her forehead. She immediately pulls herself into a sitting position, panting happily. I can’t help but stare at her in wonder. I absolutely adore this little girl. I know all parents are supposed to feel that way, but she’s just honestly amazing. She changes and grows every day, and I never know what to expect from her. Motherhood has been a rollercoaster ride so far, mostly on the downhill trajectory while it feels like the bottom is falling out of my stomach but still completely exhilarating. I absolutely love it. I still worry, about once a minute, that I’m going to do something horrible to completely ruin her, but I’m quite happy to be Becca’s mom.

I reach up and stroke her cheek for a second before I stretch and yawn. “Did Daddy give you breakfast?” I ask. “Or is that on Mommy today?” Lately, I never know with her. She’s warming up to solids a bit more, but some days she just wants me. I’m of the mindset that whatever gives her the sustenance she needs and prevents a tantrum is perfectly acceptable. The fact that I’m still breastfeeding my fifteen-month-old has been a hot topic on more than one political talk show, and has been discussed at length in more than one newspaper and magazine. It’s ridiculous and offensive and a little heartbreaking. I’m not really sure how it’s anyone’s business, either, or why anyone would feel the need to talk about how I feed my child instead of discussing world matters. 

It makes Josh apoplectic, actually, and he’s let loose on more than one commentator when they try to steer a conversation toward me as a mother instead of me as Chief of Staff. The First Lady’s been known to give people a piece of her mind, too, when the topic happens to come up. I do my best to let it roll off my back, but it still blows my mind that anyone cares how I feed Becca instead of that I feed her. I’m not even really sure how anyone knows how she gets her meals. I’m not one to usually breastfeed her in public—more to do with my own modesty than anything else—but I’ve certainly never hesitated when she’s been hungry and needed to eat. I can only guess that someone noticed at some point, or took a picture, and the world suddenly cared more about my mothering skills than keeping the economy afloat.

I shake myself out of it, returning my focus to my daughter. I can’t let the opinions of the world get to me and make me doubt my abilities more than I already do. “Are you hungry, sweetheart?” That’s a word she understands. She reaches out and pats my chest, her tiny hand managing to find every sore spot I have.

I shift to my back, gasping as my stomach rolls violently. I groan and clutch at it, cringing as a wave of nausea rushes through me. My eyes slam shut and I take deep breaths, hoping it’ll pass. Sometimes, in the first few moments after I wake up, I forget that I’m pregnant again. This pregnancy has been completely different than the last one, and I’ve rarely woken up with morning sickness. With Becca, it became part of the routine, and while it certainly wasn’t pleasant, I knew how to handle it…eventually. With this one, the moments of illness have been so infrequent that it always throws me off my game, and it feels like it hits me out of the blue. The only upside is that while I feel completely nauseated at times, I’m usually able to hold off on vomiting. It’s the little things in the world.

“Mah-mee,” Becca’s little voice says, worried even at this age. I don’t know that I blame her.

“Mommy’s okay,” I moan. “It’s okay.” I take a few deeps breaths, feeling the nausea start to abate. I try to relax my body, not even realizing I’d crammed myself into the fetal position in hopes to ward off the sickness. I put my hand on my stomach, waiting for it to stop turning, smiling when I realize it’s the baby moving about that I’m feeling. “Not cool, new kid,” I whisper in the general direction of my fetus. “Give me a break. Don’t be a drama queen like your sister.” I’m answered with more tiny kicks. With Becca, I didn’t feel any of this until well into my second trimester. At least, I wasn’t sure if I felt anything until then, even though my doctor knew Becca was fine. But after going through it once, it's easier to recognize the signs for what they are instead of second-guessing everything. I’ve been feeling this one move about for weeks now. Josh hasn’t been able to yet, and it drives him crazy.

“Are you done?” I ask the new one, rubbing small circles on my slightly protruding belly. I swear the next few kicks I feel are deliberate—tiny toes in a few vital organs—but then it settles down, the last nigglings of the ick fading away. I breathe a sigh of relief and relax, sprawling out on my back, reaching out one hand to rest on Becca’s foot. “Sorry, sweetheart. Our baby was being rude.”

I look over at her; her eyes are wide, her little body still and on edge as she tries to process what she just saw. “Everything’s all right,” I tell her, giving her foot a gentle squeeze. “Believe it or not, this isn’t nearly as bad as it was with you.”

She reaches out and pushes her hand against my chest again. “Food.” I can’t help but chuckle. We thought she was bound and determined to remain silent until one day, a little over a month ago, she spoke. No hesitation, no uncertainty, just a tiny, clear, “Mommy.” She says it in her own, slightly broken-apart way, but there was no doubt of what she said. A couple of days later, we heard her say, “Daddy.” Josh broke down and cried, though I don’t blame him. She completely bypassed “Mama” and “Dada,” which blew both of our minds, but since we always use Mommy and Daddy, it makes sense in its own way. 

She’s come out with just a couple of other words since, one of which is, “whoa.” Neither of us is entirely sure of where she got that, but it sound hilarious coming out of her tiny mouth. “Food” is another one. Not cookie, not snack, not juice…food. She also knows exactly what food is. We’ve tried to trick her, to see if she’s been lucky at guessing or only knows what she usually eats, but she’s good. She’s a food enthusiast.

I smile at her, pulling her a little closer. “Do you want to say hi to the baby?” She makes a face, probably less sure of what I’m asking and more sure that it means a delay in eating. I sit up a little, propping myself against the headboard and pull up my shirt, letting Becca see the bump. “The baby is in here,” I tell her, rubbing my belly. She scrunches her forehead, looking terribly confused. I suppose that’s fair. The concept is definitely confusing when you’re little, and even more so to someone who’s only been alive for a year. “When Mommy has a baby, it has to live in her belly for a while. You lived in my belly, too. Do you remember?” The look she gives me is the same one Josh gives to people when he’s feeling intellectually superior and is simply humoring those around him. If it’s this bad now, I can only imagine what it’ll be like when she’s in high school.

“Come here, Beck,” I tell her, gently pulling her closer. She rests on her knees next to my hip, watching me cautiously. I take her little hand and put it on my stomach. “This is your brother or sister. I know it doesn’t make much sense now, but you’ll get to meet each other in a few months.” Her other hand comes to rest on my stomach, too, but she only stares at me, seemingly unsure of what to do next. “Baby,” I repeat, hoping that some part of this will stick with her. 

She grins at me brightly all of a sudden, showing me her tiny teeth again. “Baby,” she says suddenly, clear as a bell, and my eyes fill with tears. Granted, Josh and I have been using that word a lot lately, sometimes to Becca but mostly just to each other, and it shouldn’t be so surprising that she can say it now, but it’s still lovely to hear. The fact that all of her words so far have come out without hesitation fascinates me. It’s like she’s storing them up inside until she’s sure she knows how to use them and lets them loose when she can use them appropriately.

“That’s right, Becca. There’s a baby in there. You’re very smart, you know that?” She probably does, actually. She’s probably very aware of her intelligence and is just biding her time until she takes over the world.

“Food,” she says again, her voice demanding this time, and all I can do is roll my eyes. 

“Yes ma’am,” I answer as I sit up completely, pulling the strap of my tank top down my arm before I grab Becca and cradle her against my chest. She latches on immediately, looking up at me contentedly as she suckles. “Won’t it be nice when you learn ‘please’ and ‘thank you’?” I ask, running my hand over her head. She smiles at me for a moment, then goes back to nursing.

I shift her a little, resting her on top of the bump, marveling at how different this part is, too. With Becca, I didn’t really start showing until I was into the fifth month. It was very easy to keep the pregnancy to ourselves until we were ready to share it with the world. This one is positioned completely different and started making itself known to the outside world weeks ago. Of course, most people haven’t asked about it anyway, reluctant to ask someone who has more or less recently given birth if she’s expecting again. Instead, I have a lot of people staring at me uncertainly, and I can tell they want to ask questions, and it entertains me to no end to see them squirm.

I have to get my kicks somewhere.

I sigh, looking down at my nursing daughter. “Things are gonna change, Beck. It’s going to be weird for all of us. You’ve never had to share Mommy and Daddy before, but the baby is going to need a lot of attention. That’s just the way they work. You probably won’t remember ever being an only child and you won’t be able to resent us too much for bringing another person into the family. No matter what Mommy and Daddy have to go through, though, I’m sure it’s going to be hardest on you. You’re just too small to understand everything that’s happening. All you’ll know is that things are different. We’ll just have to promise to be patient with each other, kiddo, and I don’t want you to ever forget just how much Mommy and Daddy love you. I promise we have enough to go around.”

She looks wildly disinterested, like she’s wondering why I won’t just shut up and let her eat. You’d think she’d be used to it by now. Josh and I have had conversations with her constantly since before she was born, but I really tend to ramble at her when she’s nursing. It never slows her down, but I imagine she’d like to eat in peace from time to time. 

However, with another one on the way, I don’t think that’s going to be an option.

A noise in the doorway makes me look up, and I smile at my husband as he tries to juggle the video camera and regular camera at the same time. “Afraid of missing something?”

He smiles at me ruefully and nods. “Always.”

I cock my head, silently telling him to come closer. He walks slowly into the room, playing around with the video camera for a few more moments before he turns it off and puts it on the nightstand. I give him a look as he takes a few pictures of me and Becca together, but he’s undeterred. “Think we’ll be able to keep this up when the new one gets here?”

“I want to say yes, but realistically…I mean, there are a lot of pictures of my oldest brother as a baby, but I can say as child number three, the time and interest wasn’t there when I came around, so pictures of me as a baby are pretty sparse. There are even fewer of my little brother; you’d swear he was adopted because he hardly shows up in pictures until he’s three or four and our parents started dragging us around on road trips.”

He chuckles a little, though he takes a few more pictures for good measure. As he’s putting that camera on the nightstand, too, he says, “I did actually feed her, you know.”  
I look down at the baby, who’s eating like we’ve been starving her. “I did assume as much.”

“She just wants to make me look bad.”

“Do you really think she’d do that to her daddy?”

“To score points with her mommy? Absolutely.”

Becca snuffles a couple of times and I shift her a little. Her hand comes up and grabs onto my breast, keeping it in place. “She’s probably about to hit another growth spurt and needs to stockpile a bunch of nutrients.”

Josh sighs tiredly. “There go all those clothes again.”

“Maybe it won’t be so bad this time. We have some stuff that has extra room. Or maybe she’s just hungry.”

He makes a noncommittal noise and sits down next to me, his arm going around my shoulders. “Good morning,” he says, leaning in to give me a kiss.

I make a face as I pull away after a couple of seconds, very aware that my breath probably smells like death. “Sorry. I haven’t gotten a chance to do anything yet.”

He shrugs, kissing my cheek when I won’t let him near my mouth. “My fault. I dumped the kid in with you.”

“There are worse ways to wake up.”

“She had something very important to tell you, though.”

“Oh! Did you hear her say ‘baby’? How long were you standing there? Did you get it on tape?”

He chuckles a little, giving me a squeeze. “Yes—I heard it and filmed it. It was almost as cute as her immediately demanding food. Hard to believe that just a couple of months ago she didn’t seem to want to say anything.”

“I think she’s just throwing us a bone so we get off her back about it. She probably knows that if she says a few words now, it’ll keep us satisfied enough so that we won’t realize for a while that we’re still doing her bidding.” I possibly give my daughter more credit than she deserves at this point, but I truly wouldn’t be surprised to find out that she knows exactly what she’s doing.

His free hand snakes out, stroking Becca’s head. “Our baby is an evil genius.”

Becca releases my nipple, smiling broadly. “Baby!” Josh laughs in surprise but she’s already rooting around determinedly, trying to latch on again. I sigh and shift her closer, wincing just a little as her teeth scrape over my abused flesh. 

“She keeps it interesting,” he says, his thumb brushing over her forehead as he cradles her head. “We definitely have to give her that.” His hand drifts down, coming to rest on my rounded belly. His touch is gentle and reverent, like he’s somehow still in disbelief that we already have another one on the way. Or maybe I’m just projecting that feeling. I smile at him, giving in for a few moments as he leans in to kiss me again.

“You said Becca had something to tell me?” I whisper, pressing my forehead to his.

He pulls back, grinning at me broadly, the smile our daughter inherited plastered all over his face. “Happy Mother’s Day.”

I blink a few times in shock. “I completely forgot,” I breathe. I’m still not used to the fact that there’s a day dedicated to me. Becca was just a few months old last year and while I know we celebrated it, a lot of the details are lost in a haze of exhaustion and the elated fear of being a new parent. The year before that, the holiday had already passed when we found out that I was pregnant. Despite telling him that we should celebrate Father’s Day that year anyway, Josh refused. He said something incredibly sappy along the lines of how he didn’t want to celebrate being a dad until I could celebrate being a mom. My overemotional state had me weeping for an hour.

“Well, we didn’t. How could we forget something as important as today?”

I lift my eyebrow at him speculatively. “The President reminded you, didn’t he?”

Somehow, his grin gets even wider. “The President, the First Lady, my mother, _your_ mother, your _father_ , at least a dozen assistants, some of whom I don’t even know, the security detail—”

“Sounds like no one has any faith in you,” I answer with a laugh, earning an irritated noise from our daughter.

“You’d think I perpetually forgot important dates.” To Josh’s credit, he’s actually really good with remembering anniversaries. Those sorts of things are important to him. 

“Maybe everyone thought because it’s not a fixed number on the calendar that it’d trip you up. Or maybe because we haven’t been parents for that long.”

He just shrugs, rubbing gentle circles on my stomach. “Their hearts are in the right place, I guess. I’ve had the date circled on my desk calendar since January, not to mention that it’s in my phone and, you know, you’re an amazing mother and deserve to be celebrated. I didn’t want to run the risk of getting caught up in something and letting this day go by uncelebrated.”

“Josh, it would’ve been—”

“No, it really wouldn’t have,” he interrupts, his tone adamant. “I can be forgiven for a lot of things, but not missing something like Mother’s Day, not unless I was actually in the Sit Room right now.”

I make sure I have Becca secure in one arm and reach up, stroking his cheek. “I would have forgiven you,” I whisper.

“I know,” he answers just as softly. “That’s why I don’t deserve you.”

He leans in and kisses me again, and I don’t push him away. 

“So,” he says, moving to kiss my neck. “You want to do your Mother’s Day Morning stuff in here or in the kitchen?”

“Mmmm, depends on what it is.” He’s good with this whole neck kissing thing. I think I’ll keep him around. 

“Breakfast, a couple of presents. Becca sent me on a shopping trip.”

“Uh-huh.” I maneuver myself away from his magic lips, but he leans in for another quick kiss. “Kitchen,” I finally answer. “Eating at the table is always easier.”

“Copy that.” 

I wince a little, shifting a little as the baby starts to squirm. “Also, as a result of giving birth to your child, I have a weaker bladder. Your second spawn thinks this is a good place to play soccer. As a result, I really have to pee.”

He chuckles and stands, holding out his arms for Becca. I pull her off me and she lets out a truly undignified squawk at the interruption of her second breakfast, making disgruntled noises as Josh holds her against his shoulder. “We’re ready when you are. Take your time.” He jostles our daughter as he makes his way out of the bedroom, Becca’s tiny “Dah-dee” making me melt a little. 

I fix up my shirt and rest my hand on my stomach, waiting to make sure the only thing this one is doing is tap dancing on my bladder. When I’m sure everything is settled, I carefully push myself off the bed and make my way into the bathroom. I’m eager to see what those two have in store for me.

**Author's Note:**

> I said ficlet…I lied. I usually do. But, it’s shorter than my other stories so, comparatively, it’s a ficlet. I had the idea for this yesterday morning/early Mother’s Day and thought about jotting it down, but then I realized it’d completely spoil everything I’d written in the other fic, which is why I decided to post that one. But this one still needed to come out, and hopefully it’s not garbage. I’m not even doing an edit (for now)…just posting as is.


End file.
